


The Vows We Take

by Huffle_Diamonds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot of talk about sex but you won't read explicit descriptions of it, Angst and Feels, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, If they died in canon they're still dead, If they were a couple in canon they're hooked up here too, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, My First Fanfic, Unbreakable Vow (Harry Potter), Written after Cursed Child came out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huffle_Diamonds/pseuds/Huffle_Diamonds
Summary: Albus Dumbledore's Portrait has one more mission for the Golden Trio.'He looked dubious but stood up.  They clasped hands, and he asked if she would give herself to him.  Her affirmative answer was met by the glow around their hands."Erotic as that sounds, I'm too hungry," were his next words.  He sat back down and started writing again.  "You'll live to see another day, Freya. Congratulations."'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I of course don't own any of the characters / plots created by the fantastic JK Rowling. I just wish my favorite character (Snape!) could have had a little more happiness added in somewhere... So here is a romance story for him that can hopefully fit into canon compliance.

     "Harry? I realize you're dreadfully tired, but there is another matter we must discuss. May I surmise that your opinion of our friend, Severus Snape, has changed? Even in the least?"

     Harry Potter turned his thoughts away from his desire for a sandwich and bed, and stared back at Albus Dumbledore's portrait.

     "Well, yes. After all, he - why do you ask?"

    "Because he had some unfinished personal business that very much needs tending to. Miss Granger, have you learned how to conjure chairs? I think you had all best sit down," the portrait requested.

     "Actually, a fourth one as well if you please. Professor McGonogall, it is so good to see you!"

     Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to find Professor McGonogall had arrived in the Headmasters office with a plateful of sandwiches in hand. She nodded at the portrait as she and the trio sat.

     "I guessed this might be where you'd drifted off to, Potter. You were saying, Albus?"

     The grayed wizard paused, and an owl flew in one of the windows. Ron retrieved a letter from its leg.

    "It's for you, Professor," Ron handed the envelope to McGonogall.

     "I trust you will find, Minerva," Dumbledore explained as she read it, "That it is from Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hopefully he confirms that he has been named interim Minister for Magic, and asks that you resume Headmistress duties."

    "It does Albus. He also says to tell you he won't be making it a habit to obey the requests of a portrait. And why does this say he's sending two Aurors to Professor Snape's house?"

    "He is dead, isn't he?" Ron interjected.   "Snape, I mean. We watched him die. There's no way he's...?"

    Dumbledore shook his head.

    "He is assuredly dead, Mr. Weasley. What remains now is looking after a matter of personal importance in his stead. I think it's the least we can do." The portrait turned to Harry directly.

     "Harry, on the night Voldemort regained his physical body three years ago, and summoned his Death Eaters back to his side, you had the opportunity to listen to his first words to them. You've told me he swore punishment for those who had not returned at his summons. Others had arrived but failed him in other ways, and would be given another chance. And a few, very few, had proven loyal during his thirteen year absence, and Voldemort spoke of them being honored, presumably even rewarded."

     Harry nodded.

     "That's right," he agreed. "And after I made it back to Hogwarts and told you about it, you sent Professor Snape back to Voldemort. To start spying again."

     "Yes, I did. And he did so without argument, even though it was at least two hours after the summons. Voldemort was most displeased with his tardiness. But over the next months and years, Severus proved himself singularly useful to the Dark Lord, pretending to spy on me at Hogwarts. And his place as Voldemort's true 'right hand man' was secured the night he killed me, which you now know was by my own arrangement.  
"On the next night after the successful 'murder' of me, the Death Eaters regrouped at Malfoy Manor to celebrate. Voldemort announced Severus Snape had earned a reward, an honor. There are elements of what you need to know I cannot tell you; you will have to see them."

     Harry glanced over at the Pensieve. "More memories? But why can't you just tell us what happened?"

     "Alas, my recounting would be hearsay. Being that I am only a painting of Albus Dumbledore, I can not plunge myself into the Pensieve. Therefore, I to this day only know that which Professor Snape was willing to tell me."

     "But you know something important. Something that can't wait?" Harry asked.

     "Professor," Dumbledore addressed McGonagall, "If you would be so kind, swing open my frame. You will find a secret compartment that can only be opened by the Headmaster or Headmistress. Please remove its contents."

     She did so, and placed three items on the desk. There was a simple wooden box, a journal, and a sealed envelope. Harry opened the box and found a collection of stoppered vials.

     "The one on my furthest right first," Dumbledore instructed, and McGonogall took it to the Pensieve, and poured its contents in.

     "Before you all embark, I think it best I share with you what his 'great honor' was," Dumbledore's portrait continued. "But perhaps you can surmise a guess, Harry? After all, Severus Snape lived simply. He did not squander his Professor salary; he would not have desired riches, and Voldemort knew this."

     "Yeah," Ron chimed in, "what do you give the guy who only likes black?"

     Dumbledore's portrait paused, waiting for Harry's response.

     "He did ask Voldemort for something, once," Harry said quietly.

     Dumbledore nodded. "And to do so would have normally been a fool's errand. But he did ask that your mother be spared during the plan to kill you and your parents. And for whatever reason, Voldemort agreed to try to spare her. His dedication to his promise was negligible, as you know. Voldemort killed Lily Potter after she refused to step aside from her infant's crib."

     Harry finished the narrative: "Voldemort figured it wasn't that big of a deal. There were other, 'more worthy' women Severus Snape could choose from, that's how he put it..." Harry glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait, realization coming to him.

     "The evening after my death," Dumbledore said, "Voldemort presented Professor Snape with a selection of witches to find a wife from. They were, as you just quoted, 'more worthy' in the Dark Lord's opinion. They were all pure blooded, which would have seemed a high honor to bestow."

     "Pure blooded," Hermione repeated. "But Professor Snape was half blooded. Voldemort wanted pure bloods to only marry other pure bloods."

     "Yeah, I reckon Voldemort thought he was giving away one heck of a prize," Ron added.

     "That's awful," Hermione said. "What Voldemort must have been threatening those witches with if they didn't comply..."

     "From what Severus ascertained in conversations with them and later his selected bride, they were all there by invitation and not requirement. They knew it was Voldemort's wish to assist an unmarried follower find a wife, but they did not know who until that evening. When his identity was revealed, they had the option to decline being considered, and several did."

     "Several? More like all, I should think," Ron snickered, elbowing Harry. Harry snorted a little.

     "Stop it!" Hermione hissed at them. "Clearly he got someone!"

     "He did choose someone from those who remained," Dumbledore said, "and she chose him. It was a dubious selection to have to make for both bride and groom, but not terribly unlike the arranged marriages of pureblood tradition. Voldemort performed the nuptials himself, brief as they were, that evening. He also requested of the bride an Unbreakable Vow, and she swore to...well, to never refuse her husband, shall we say."

     Harry's brow furrowed.

      "Unbreakable Vow? But why would she agree to make one if she didn't have to? That's life or death!"

     Dumbledore sighed. "It was an ill-advised decision made with only a moment's notice. I think it had less to do with her new husband, and more to do with a previous disagreement with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Avery. You may recall Mr. Avery has been a Death Eater since the early days of the group, and was among those Voldemort had been so displeased with upon his return three years ago. But I think I'll leave more of her story to be explained by her own memory, as she and Professor Snape returned to his home at Spinner's End that evening."

     McGonagall spoke up at this.

     "Albus, you can't really expect us to view someone's wedding night. Not unless you're certain there's only conversation in this memory?"

     The portrait raised his eyebrows.

     "Conversation only, Minerva. He told me so himself," came the reply.

     "It still doesn't seem right," Harry said. "I'm the last person he'd want seeing this."

     "Harry, what have I said before?" asked Dumbledore. "Do not pity the dead. Pity the living. Mrs. Snape will be arriving soon with the Aurors. We have no idea what her reaction will be to her husband's death; extreme grief? Relief? Fear? She may wish to flee; it is my hope that by providing Professor McGonogall and you as much of their story as I can, you will better know how to proceed when talking to her. It is a delicate situation, I think."

     "But why us too, Professor?" Hermione spoke up. "Shouldn't Ron and I stay behind?"

     "If time is important, I reckon it's so Harry won't need to retell it before we help him sort it out," Ron answered her. "I mean, he always tells us everything anyway. This saves a step."

     "Precisely, Mr. Weasley. Now, if you're ready..." replied Dumbledore, and he nodded toward the Pensieve.

     The trio stood and joined McGonogall at the basin.

~~~~~

     A moment later they were in the narrow entranceway of an old, shabby house. The front door swung open, and the bat like Professor swished to one side, holding the door while a red haired woman walked in. Severus Snape closed the door and with a flick of his wand he locked it. He was staring at her, his face impassive, as she trepidatiously made her way down the hall. She was taking in the grayed wallpaper when at last he remarked:

     "Unfortunate, isn't it, that I don't come with a lovely estate such as you're accustomed to. Tea, or something stronger?"

     She turned, but before she spoke a crunch came from under her feet. There were shattered pieces of brown pottery on the wooden floor. The wall above it had a small nook display the piece must have normally sat in, and the floor was littered with a gray substance that had spilled.

     "What is that stuff?" Ron whispered. "Soot from the fireplace?"

     "Don't know," Harry replied. "But you don't have to whisper. They can't hear or see us."

     "Right," said Ron, staring at the woman as she stepped back in bewilderment. "It is like how you described it, watching memories. The whole thing is boggled."

     "Shhh!" McGonogall waved at them. Snape took a large step over the mess and continuing into the drawing room. He only stopped when his new wife spoke up from behind.

     "Shouldn't we leave? Or check the house? It would seem someone's been here," she said.

      Snape followed her gaze down at the mess.

     "Ah, you've met my father, I see. You'll have to watch out for him, Freya; sometimes I'll just leave him on the floor for a while. And you still haven't answered my question; tea, or elf wine? Or, I have muggle whiskey as well."

     "These are your father's ashes?!" Freya asked, sounding aghast. "And you've knocked his urn over and left him here on the floor?!"

     "Oh my," whispered McGonogall, placing her hand over her heart.

     Snape raised his eyebrows at Freya.

     "Not 'knocked over', my dear. Thrown and intentionally shattered. I've found it's a useful coping tool when I need one." He extended his wand over his father's remains and the urn reassembled itself, its contents returning inside it. He picked it up and placed it back in the display nook.

      "Well, at least you've put it back together, I suppose," Freya commented in relief.

      "Of course I put it back together," Snape sighed. "I can't break it again if it's not mended first, now can I?"

      The two met eyes, and after a moment she whispered,

     "I hate to guess what's become of your mother."

      Snape's face seemed to soften slightly.

      "I've done for her in death that which she was too cowardly to do in life. I've separated them."

      After another pause Freya told him, "The muggle whiskey, I think."

      "At last we agree on something," Snape said. "Have a seat, I'll be right back."

     Harry, Ron, Hermione, and McGonogall followed Freya into the drawing room, where she sat on the threadbare couch. It was a very unwelcoming place, Harry thought. Snape returned with two small glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Harry recognized the same labelled variety from his uncle Vernon's liquor cabinet; apparently Vernon didn't think it very good, as he never offered it up when guests came over.  
Snape poured and handed one glass to Freya, and held up his own in a toast.

      "To the Dark Lord," he said.

      "To the Dark Lord," she repeated, and they drank.

      "Oh!" Freya winced.

      "Dreadful stuff, yes," Snape said. "I didn't purchase it. But, much like a real potion, the flavor matters not; the effectiveness is what is important." He refilled his own glass, but she held up her hand, not wanting another.  
Snape took a small sip this time, and then asked:

      "How long have you known about this arrangement? I wasn't expecting it at all."  
She straightened a little, seemingly glad for some conversation,

     "Seven weeks. My father told me the Dark Lord required a bride for one of his followers, and would speak to any unmarried witches who would like to meet him," she told him.

      "I see. And did he not reveal who the husband was to be?" Snape asked.

     "No," she replied. "The Dark Lord only said it was a surprise."

      "It certainly was," Snape said. "And your father seemed most unimpressed by your decision tonight. Did you notice his face when we announced our engagement?"

      Freya frowned, and Snape continued.

     "No, I expect you hadn't noticed. You had so many other matters on your mind."  
He poured himself a third drink, but before sipping it he asked in a more reserved tone,

     "How many years my junior are you?"

      "Six, I believe," she said, and Snape lowered his drink.

      "We had one year overlapping as students then?" he asked.

      "Yes. But it was my first year; I'm sorry to say I don't remember you much from then. However, I believe you were friends with my brother?"

     "Luther? Yes, we were in the same year, he and Magnus Mulciber and I ... we joined the Death Eaters together," he replied. "But six years between you and I ... I started teaching..."

     "During my 5th year, yes. I had you for Potions my final three years," she confirmed.

       Snape sighed heavily.

"You were one of my students," he muttered unhappily.

      She raised her eyebrows, allowing for a long pause. Her cheeks drew in slightly, and Harry thought at that moment she looked very much like a young Mrs. Malfoy.

     "Well, yes," Freya said finally. "Surely that's not a problem is it?"

     "I suppose at this point, it'll have to not be."

    "Good. I was hoping we'd be agreeable to using given names immediately. Unless you'd prefer I call you 'Professor?"

    "Oi," whispered Ron. "She may be able to handle him. Look at her, she knows he's squirming," and Harry nodded back at him quietly.

    "Certainly not," Snape answered her. "It's sordid, for one thing," he continued. "And for another, I'm not a Professor anymore. Not after tonight."

     Freya glanced back at the urn.

      "You do realize," she told him, "You have a rather skewed idea of that which is sordid, and that which is not?"

     "All in one's perspective, I suppose," Snape replied.

     They both glanced up at an old Grandfather clock in the corner of the room, as it chimed the third quarter hour. Freya turned back to Snape, a new look crossing her face.

      "Eleven forty-five," her voice droned with dread.

     "So it is. What of it?"

     "Midnight," she replied, visibly exasperated when he shrugged as if not realizing what it meant.  "'Every day, will you Freya, agree to give yourself to your husband," she quoted.

     "At midnight it's the next day. We only have fifteen minutes left, or my Vow will be broken!"

     "An ample amount of time, my dear," Snape told her soothingly. "Sit back down; I have another matter to ask about."

     Harry glanced at Hermione who was chewing one of her nails nervously. McGonogall had taken to tapping her foot. Harry reminded himself this was a memory; Dumbledore had made it clear Mrs. Snape was still alive. But what was Snape playing at?

     "Who is he?" Snape asked calmly.

     "Sorry? Who is who?" Freya said, her frown deepening.

     "Who indeed," Snape snorted. "Your previous boyfriend. Love. Fiancé. Whatever he was; the young man in your thoughts following our nuptials."

     Freya seemed to visibly sink several inches. She began wringing her hands in her lap anxiously.

     "You...you're able to..." she stammered.

     "I am a capable enough Legilimens, yes," Snape said, tapping one finger against his lips.

     "How long have you been broken up?"

      She hesitated, but answered, "Three months."

     "I see. What happened?"

     She hesitated again. "My parents disapproved of our union when I told them we were engaged. Father said he and mother would begin searching for acceptable candidates for me to choose from, but I couldn't marry him." She looked up at Snape.  
"They did find several, but I couldn't agree to any of them. So I came tonight to the Dark Lord's matchup."

     Snape studied her.

     "Perhaps you didn't love him as much as you think," he suggested. "Otherwise you'd have run off with him."

     "It's not as simple as you think," she replied, visibly sad. "He's far safer without me."

     The clock's ticking was more audible in the silence, and she looked at it again.

     "Ten minutes..." she realized, her hand quivering against her forehead.

     "The matter will take very, very little time, believe you me," Snape told her, smirking. She glared as he sipped his drink a little more.

     "What is his name?" he asked.  
She stared back at him, a look of deeper fear settling in.

     "His...what?"

      "I want to know his name."  
"I don't see that that's necessary, Severus.   I..."

     Snape leaned forward in his chair, his face darkening.

     "His name, Freya!" he barked. When she didn't answer, he stood and glowered over her.

     "You may think you have protected him, but I promise you he is not. Tell me now who he is, or do you really think I can't find out by other means?!"

     Freya slipped off the couch to her knees, her glass falling with a thud onto the grimy rug.

     "Now listen Severus...," she began. "There's...there's no need for you to do anything to him. Please! I'll do as you wish, he's... I can't have him now, don't you see? My Vow is to you, if I tried to leave you I'd..."

     "If you tried to leave you would DIE, Freya. And you're right, you absolutely can NOT have him, not now that you've given yourself in marriage to me," Snape told her bitterly. "You do realize the gravity of the Unbreakable Vow you've taken tonight? That your life is now forever bound to it?"

    "Yes," she told him, regaining herself a little. "I am well aware of that."

    Snape studied her quietly, and then said, "You must remove him from your thoughts as much as you can. You must detach yourself from your feelings for him. It is the only way you'll be able to carry on."

     Freya gazed at the clock again, tears preparing in her eyes. "But I won't be carrying on. You've seen to it. There's just four minutes left."

     Hermione began to cry softly for her; Ron cursed; and McGonogall grabbed Harry's shoulder as if steadying herself. "It's going to be alright," he told them. "It has to be."

     "Nonsense. I'm just finishing my drink," Snape said coolly. And he painstakingly sipped the last drops from his glass, as if savoring its awful flavor. He put the glass down and stood over her, watching as she wept quietly.

    "That will do, Freya," he murmured. "There's already been too many women who have cried on that rug. Stand up."

    She did so, every inch of her trembling, and he took her right hand in his. Harry glanced at the clock; one minute to go.

    "Freya," Snape spoke as if reciting, "my...wife. Would you give yourself to me tonight?"

    Hermione gasped and pointed; a soft glow was emerging around their joined hands. The clock began chiming midnight.

    "Yes," Freya replied resolutely.

     Her tears had stopped, but her face was still very pink. As the tolls counted down, she became even more crestfallen.

    "Eye contact is key, Freya," Snape urged her, tightening his grip because hers had slackened. "Look at me, and mean what you've said!" And she immediately stared back at him again.

     The clock finished its sounding, and the glow around their hands brightened for just a moment, then dissipated completely. Shock and disbelief overtook Freya as she began crying into her free hand.

    "There, there," Snape said patronizingly, "You didn't turn into a pumpkin after all." He released her hand and turned to a bookshelf.

    He waved his wand, and a section pulled out to reveal a small room. He made a disapproving noise when he saw its disgusting state; Harry thought it looked like a rat's nest.

    "A...pumpkin?! I should have died!" Freya exclaimed.

     "No, no. It's all in the wording, my dear. I don't know that it was his intention, but the Dark Lord only made you promise to agree to give yourself to me daily. And you did that."

    "So...we don't have to consummate?" she asked.

     Their eyes met again.

     "No," he told her, and she broke the gaze. He inhaled deeply. "I'm tired. It's exhausting work, you understand, killing a great wizard. I prefer my rest."

     He nodded to the newly revealed quarters.

     "You can use Wormtail's old room," he continued. "You'll find better linens in the hall closet. And you can gut the room tomorrow, he never did understand the prospect of tidying up. It's just as well that he's off to assist the Malfoys instead."

     He paused, but since she said nothing, he walked past her towards the hall.

     "Come on, then!" Ron bellowed at Freya.  "Aren't you gonna tell him off?!" and Ron threw his arms up in frustration.

     Freya turned, as if in response to the unheard challenge, and strode back into the drawing room.

    "I very nearly died, Severus! You didn't have to wait until midnight!" she called after the billowing black robes. "You're terrible, and mean-spirited!"

    "I think it very much needed to wait until midnight," Snape responded, smirking.  "Wouldn't have wanted to rob you of a _lesson_ to be learned, now would we?"

     "Ugh!! You wretched cad!!!" She screamed at him, and stomped back into the hidden room.

     "I'll take that as a 'no' to a good night kiss. Until morning then," they heard him call after her.

     Freya stood red faced and fuming as Snape's footsteps grew further away. Then there was a loud crash that made them all jump.

     "Good night, father," came Snape's voice from the entryway, and the staircase began creaking under his ascension.

     As the memory faded, Harry's last sight of Freya was of her with her arms crossed and shaking her head miserably, in the filthy little room.


	2. Chapter 2

     "I don't care how much of a hero you say he turned out to be Harry," Ron announced back in the now Headmistress's office, "he was still a git. A right awful git!"

     "That poor witch," Hermione added. "She said it best, really. 'Mean-spirited, terrible, an awful cad.' Letting her carry on like that, thinking she was about to die..."  
  
     "You'll get no argument from me, guys," Harry told them. "He was all that and worse." He sighed. "Except for one thing, I reckon."

     He glanced up at their silence, and he shrugged.

     "Well, you know. The one thing he didn't make her do."

     Hermione nodded thoughtfully.  
  
     "He figured out she was in love with someone else, after they were married," she mused. "So he found a way around her Unbreakable Vow. Brilliant, really, to be able to outmaneuver a Vow Voldemort himself had come up with."

  
     "Yeah, well, maybe she just wasn't even his type. I mean, he had to pick someone from the matchup, since there were takers," Ron put in. "It's not like he could've told Voldy, 'thanks for the offer, mate, but I'm good pining away for the girl you killed instead.' Maybe he just picked anybody."

     "No," Harry said somberly. "Didn't you see her? She has straight red hair, just like my mum. I don't know if Professor Snape had a type, but I think Freya Avery is as close as you could've gotten."

     Harry sat back down in one of the chairs, the weirdness of the whole matter weighing on him. McGonogall put her hand on his shoulder and held the plate out to him.

      "Here, Potter. Have a sandwich," she told him, and he accepted one gratefully.

     Dumbledore's portrait spoke up.

     "Voldemort handpicked the witches to be invited to the matchup, Harry," he explained. "Professor Snape told me nearly all the witches there had red hair, by Voldemort's own selection."

     "He was replacing her. That's what Voldemort was doing," Harry said. He imagined Snape walking into a room filled with lookalikes of his lost love and friend, and being told to merely choose one. Harry suddenly felt very sorry for him.

     "It seems clear to me from your commentary," Dumbledore pushed on, "that you'll need to progress on to another memory. They are in sequence, so the next vial in order, if you would."

     "No," Harry replied as he stood up again. "I'm sorry Professor Dumbledore, but not until you tell us more. What are we looking for, what's this all about?"

    The portrait crossed his hands in front of himself and gazed down at them through his half moon spectacles.  
  
   "Harry. What were our chats in this office always about? What was clearly at the very core of it all?" he asked.

     "Love, then," Harry sighed. "We're needing to know if they managed to fall in love."

     "Ruddy fat chance of that happening!" Ron exclaimed. "They can't stand each other! She hates him!!!"  
  
     Harry's eyes grew big....

     "Say that last bit again?"

     Ron glared at Harry, as if thinking his best friend had suddenly gone daft.

    "She HATED him!" Ron repeated.

    "No," Harry muttered slowly. "Maybe she didn't."

    Hermione gawked at him.

    "Harry, why do you say that?" she asked. He ran his hand through his hair absentmindedly.

     "Just, erm...something Sirius tried to explain to me once," he replied.

     He then shrugged. "Plus, she had all those other suitors she'd already turned down, because she still loved her ex-fiancé. But then she goes to this matchup, and suddenly she's totally good with marrying the one wizard there? Either her parents had told her 'last chance,' or..."

     "Or she saw something in Professor Snape," Hermione finished for him, nodding. "Oh, wouldn't it be wonderful, if he had found love in his final year?"

     "It certainly would, Miss Granger," Professor McGonogall agreed wistfully. She had drifted off toward the window, and Harry realized how quiet she had been during these last minutes, listening in as Ron and Hermione helped him dissect the potential love life of Professor Snape. Harry took a few steps toward her.

     "Professor..." he tried to find some words for her, but couldn't.  
  
     She turned and faced them, dabbing her eyes with a kerchief.

     "I was awful to him this last year, you know. All of us here at Hogwarts were," she explained. "He certainly had no support from my direction, I called him every version of 'coward' I could possibly come up with..."

     Hermione gasped.

     "Professor! Courage is courage, but we all thought he was a murderer! You called him a coward to his face?! You could've been next!" she exclaimed.

    "Pfft, I would've welcomed the fight," McGonogall waved her hand dismissively. "And besides, it was always hidden. The Carrows wouldn't have had the foggiest idea what I was really saying. But Severus? I made sure he knew how I felt."

     "How? What did you say?"

     "Well, for example. One time, they had all three come around the corner, and I turned to the Professor next to me and I said '...do also watch out for the Scots Dumpy. We have a black variety on the premises this year, and he's a dread awful pecker.'"

     "What's a Scots Dumpy?" Harry asked as Ron roared in laughter.

     "A chicken," McGonogall told him. "A rare Scottish breed. My mother kept some while I was a girl, and I know I mentioned it to him more than once over the years."

     Harry exploded with laughter too, marveling at her.

     "Professor, I've so missed seeing you this year!" he told her.

     "We ALL have, Professor," Hermione added.

     McGonagall smiled warmly and told them, "And I missed you all too. I worried for you, out there doing the impossible. But you had each other, and I had my colleagues and the Order. My point is, Professor Snape had no one. He went about his part rather alone, and so if he was able to find solace somewhere, I'd be very glad for it.

     "However," she turned to Dumbledore's portrait, "mere curiosity is not a good enough reason to pry, Albus. I trust there is good cause? There is more to the matter?"

     "I wouldn't ask if there wasn't, Minerva," he replied.

     She nodded, and Harry withdrew the next vial.


	3. Chapter 3

The Snapes' kitchen was old and humble, but now it was definitely clean. Snape sat at a small table reading a Daily Prophet, while Freya was up to her elbows in dishwater at the sink. Harry glanced down the hallway and saw it had also been scrubbed and polished.

"Clean enough to eat off the floor," Hermione spoke his thought. "She's been hard at work. Ron, what's the date on his newspaper?"

Ron leaned forward and read, "'16 July, 1997.' So, they've been married a couple of weeks."  
  
"Was lunch alright?" Freya asked.

"Fine, just fine. Your abilities at the cheese sandwich are appreciated," Snape replied.

"You're quite sure you still want it every day?"

"It's all that I require. Although if you'd prefer something else tomorrow, I don't mind that either."  
  
"Brilliant," Ron commented. "They've gone from hating each other to the most boring couple ever."  
  
"They're trying to be cordial with each other. It's a start!" Hermione told him.

"And what's on your agenda this afternoon?" Snape asked.

Freya sighed as she added a clean plate to the dish rack, her back still to him.  
  
"Finish these dishes, and then...I don't know. Unless you've changed your mind about the upstairs..."

"No, upstairs is my private living area. It's off limits."

Freya pursed her lips but made no comment to this.

"...and you won't let me deep clean your study..."

"Surface care was enough. I like my bookshelves as they are."

She nodded. "Then I've run out of ideas. You'll have to provide me new tasks."

Snape continued reading as he said:

"Your fervor is commendable, Freya. But why do you insist on working endlessly? Have I given you the impression I expect it?"  
  
The back of her neck stiffened at this.

"I do it because I dislike living in a dirty house, Severus," she told him, scrubbing at a teacup. "And it's very good that you haven't ordered me to clean, because if you had, I'd have left the house filthy for spite."  
  
"Is that the only reason?" Snape pushed on. Freya paused again.

"No," she admitted. "I do it because idle hands lead to a wandering mind, Severus. And I...I don't want my mind to wander."

Snape lowered his newspaper halfway.

"And as I've said, I don't want to catch you thinking about him. Put your memories of him in an imaginary door, and close it. Clear away your feelings for him. I don't want to see him!"

Freya shot a profile glare over her shoulder at Snape, but returned to her work.

"It's difficult, after all. If I could just get out of the house, even for a walk...clear my head..."  
  
Snape shook his head and turned the newspaper back to the front page, setting it down. McGonagall pointed at the main article, which included a large picture of Dumbledore, and under it were the words "DUMBLEDORE MURDERED!"  
  
"I'm a wanted wizard, Freya," Snape told her in an exasperated voice. "Harry Potter has gone on record saying he is certain it was me that killed Dumbledore. Until the Dark Lord's resources get the story under control, it's not safe to leave the house! We've discussed all of this. Isn't that why I had your parents come over yesterday? To help me set up protections on the house?"  
  
Freya didn't reply for a while, stacking more dishes.

Finally, she changed the subject.

"Severus, you're...37? Or are you 38?"

"37. I turn in January," he answered. He checked that she still had her back to him before adding, "Perhaps our age difference bothers you more than you thought?"

She chuckled.

"Six years? Certainly not. We purebloods often marry with even greater age differences. So many of us are related, you know. Why, my parents are nine years apart. So no, the only person our six years seems to matter to is you, Severus."

"It's not the age..." he said.

"It's the ex-pupil part? Well, you've only yourself to blame for that; you're entirely too brilliant. Really, to become the youngest Professor in Hogwarts history, only three years after finishing your own schooling. You'd be hard pressed to find someone close to your own age who wasn't a previous student of yours," she told him.

His head perked up; she'd just paid him a compliment, and he'd noticed. However, he replied in a sedated voice,

"Albus Dumbledore hired me because I'd agreed to spy on the Dark Lord for him."

"Yes," she said. "But surely he wasn't going to let someone incompetent take the Potions position. And you proved him right, didn't you? Haven't the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. grades in your subject vastly improved over the last decade and a half?"

"Yes, not that the students ever seemed to notice. I didn't tolerate failure, and was very harsh."

"Well, your job wasn't to coddle them. Dumbledore saw your potential. It's just a pity, really."

"What's a pity?"

"That you had to kill him. Surely he meant something to you at some point."

"Ohhhh, boy," Ron muttered as Snape stood slowly and glared at her.

"I had my orders," Snape told her evenly. "And I followed them. It's as simple as that!"

She turned, obviously unnerved. Much more timidly she said,

  
"I seem to have struck a chord, Severus, and I didn't mean to. If the Dark Lord said it was time to end Dumbledore, then of course you had to follow through on it. I only meant...it was surely hard for you to do so. You yourself referred to Dumbledore as a great wizard."

There seemed to be an inward struggle happening to Snape, Harry thought. At last he sat back down and hid behind the newspaper once again.

"I'm not upset, Freya," Snape muttered. "We just needed to be clear about where my loyalty is."

"It's very clear, Severus," she replied. "You're not the Dark Lord's right hand for nothing."

She drained the water in the sink and turned to face him. She picked up a dish towel and dried her hands thoughtfully.

"Thank you for staying and talking, Severus," she said with much sincerity.

"You said it helps," came the gruff reply from behind the newspaper.

"It does help," she murmured.

"I don't understand why it needs help," he said.

Freya seemed to choose her words carefully as she sat down across from him.

"Because of the close calls," she whispered to the newspaper. "There've been two evenings this week already."

"Well, what's so difficult about it?!" Snape asked in frustration. "I ask you the question, and you say 'yes', but you know I'll always provide an excuse. I'm not going to force you into anything! What is so difficult about that?!"

Freya reached over and gently took the newspaper away, folded it and set it aside. Their eyes locked at last, and she spoke gently to him.

"Meaning it, Severus. I have to mean it, and..." she grabbed his sleeve as he stood to leave, and pulled him coaxingly back down to his chair.

"You meant it well enough the first evening," he pointed out. "It worked the first three days. Why isn't it working now? You know I wouldn't..."

He stopped talking and she stared at his profile.

"Severus," she murmured, "please don't think I don't appreciate your...chivalry on the matter..." he scoffed and pulled his arm away. "I truly do. It's hard to explain..."

"Well, try," Snape said.

Freya curled the corner of the newspaper absentmindedly, studying him.

"In the very first days," she began, "my resolve to follow through my 'yes' with actually going to bed with you was enough to comply with the Vow. I was frightened, but I had agreed to have sex with you. So I would have done it. Because I was expecting you to hold me to it, my 'yes' was sincere enough. Does that make sense? But by the fifth evening, I was becoming confident you would decline again. And I think that made my 'yes' insincere. I knew I could say 'yes' even when it was really 'no' in my heart."

"I see," Severus said, returning his gaze to her. "It would seem a lack of fear has resulted in complacency." He tapped his fingertips on the table. "Are you saying you want a change in the arrangement?"

She smiled weakly, and shook her head 'no'.

"Then what are we to do about it?"

"Just this," she replied, motioning at him and her at the table. "Sitting and talking, it helps so much. If we can just get to know each other better..."

Snape scoffed again and stood up.

"To what end?" he asked, his hand against the doorway. "Because if you're imagining a romance between us, then give it up. I've glimpsed your old beau, and he is dashing. Surely he was kind? I'm ugly and mean. So unless you can tell me he had rocks for a brain, then I've nothing better to offer you than he, and there's no hope for you to ever fall in love with me. It's not possible."

"Severus, take my hand."  
  
"What for?"

"Just do it quickly, before you say something else and muck it up. Ask me the question." He turned and sat back down, and complied.

"Yes," she answered, and without trouble the glow around their hands appeared, brightened, and dissipated.

Freya pulled her hand away first, leaving Snape staring down at his own in confusion.

"I don't understand," he spoke finally, and looked up at her. "Surely there hasn't been a drastic change in the last five minutes?"

Meekly, she shook her head 'no' again.

He nodded.

"Upset stomach," he complained. "I may have to take something for it. But why on earth should my moment of self-disparagement have worked? Am I to criticize myself daily so you can have a fleeting moment of interest?"

"Saying terrible things about yourself is not the key, Severus," Freya explained. "I think...I think it worked this time because you weren't being such a cad. You were saying something from the heart, showing a vulnerability, and...it was enough..."

"...enough to make you desire me?" Severus asked, a hopeful glint in his eye.

She did not reply, but stared at him with a look of pity, Harry thought.

"Hmm," Snape said. He sat back. His face became dispassionate and he guessed again. "Enough to make the prospect a little less offensive, then?"

"I'm sorry, Severus..."

"Don't be," he clipped back. "It's not as if I was looking for a wife. But I warn you, I'm not one to speak from the heart as you say, and I'm not about to start doing so on a regular basis. I suppose I can try to be 'less of a cad' occasionally. Whenever one of these fleeting moments of yours hits, say so, and we'll take care of the question for the day. But I'm not saying I'll change for you. I can't be kind all the damned time."

She smiled warmly.

"I wouldn't ask you to. Thank you Severus, really. And as for your moment of 'self-disparagement', please don't call yourself ugly. Physical appearance does not determine attractiveness. Not always."

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't give me that 'true beauty lies within' rubbish. I can't stand such sayings."

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Severus?"

"What now?"

"Have you really been a bachelor your whole life?"

He sighed heavily.

"Yes."

"When was your last romantic venture? How long has it been?"

Snape narrowed his eyes without responding.

  
"Please, Severus. We're not on even ground. You know a little about my last romance, it's only fair you tell me some about yours," Freya urged him on.

"Sorry to disappoint," he bit out. "I've never had a romance of my own."

Freya frowned.

"Never? At all?"

"Did I stutter?" he sneered. "No, I've never been romantically involved before."

"But..." she stared at him in disbelief. "Haven't you ever loved anyone? Anyone at all?"

Harry felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder. She whispered, "Harry, would you rather...?"

"No," he whispered back. "I'm good. I need to understand it better. Maybe whatever he tells her will answer some of my own questions." Hermione nodded, and they turned back to the Snapes' conversation.

Snape shook his head, unwilling to give the answer Harry knew to be true.

"It doesn't matter," Snape said.

"It certainly does matter," Freya pressed him. "It matters a great deal, especially in my predicament. I need to know if you're at least capable of it."

"Of course I'm capable," Snape said. "But it was a long time ago, and you needn't hold your breath for it to happen again."

"But there was someone?"  
  
He sighed.

"Yes, there was someone."

"Why didn't it work?"  
  
"Why do you think? The interest was one-sided."

"Did you at least confess your feelings?" Freya asked.

"No. We'd already broken apart as best friends. There wasn't any point to further humiliating myself."

"Wasn't any point? But maybe it wasn't one-sided. How would you have known without trying?"   
  
Snape rubbed the ridge between his eyes.  
"One day, still in school, I said something ... upsetting. No amount of my apologizing was enough. That's how we finally fell apart, and never saw each other again after graduation."  
  
They sat in silence until he left the kitchen suddenly, and the memory ended.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for being away so long! I have to add Domestic Violence triggers for this and future chapters possibly. Dubious consent in a couple more from now. Don't worry, Snape's not into hurting Freya, he's just facing parallels in his own marriage to... the past. 
> 
> Hopefully my writing mojo will be better and it won't be months before the next chapter:)

Dumbledore's portrait had wasted no time urging them on to the third memory; Ron had suggested skipping a few and observing just the final ones. However, the portrait was insistent it would still 'take some time' for the Aurors to make it past the magical protections of the Snape home, locate Freya from any number of hiding places there, and to question her. It might be another few hours before she would be brought to Hogwarts.

Harry was inwardly fascinated to see more of their story. The memories Professor Snape had urgently left him before dying came with certain impressions; Professor Snape was undoubtedly Dumbledore's man, willing to make any sacrifice to bring down Voldemort. Snape's Patronus still being a doe before Dumbledore's death proved how much Harry's mother still meant to Snape. 

But if Professor Snape had fallen in love with his new wife following Dumbledore's death, what did that mean? Freya's family was on Voldemort's side, her own father and brother being Death Eaters themselves. Couldn't Snape have decided to change sides back to Voldemort, or been very tempted too? He'd been very upset with Dumbledore that he'd lied about being able to keep Harry alive. If he loved his wife enough, and she him, couldn't that have been enough to make him choose the side that was winning at the time? And yet he clearly hadn't ... or had he? While dying in the Shrieking Shack he could have changed his mind and decided to help Harry. Harry didn't like questioning Snape's loyalty yet again, but had to consider the possibility.

The current memory was starting with hardly any activity; they were in Professor Snape's study, where he sat at his desk scribbling away on parchment. He had several books opened and scattered around him. Finally, there was a warbling sound at the door that connected to the parlor. Clearly, the door was warded.

"Severus, really. Why do you insist on keeping me out?" came Freya's voice.

"I have work to do, and you can't keep barging in. Let me alone."

"Merlin's beard, Severus! That was two days ago and I just wanted a few different books to look through. There's nothing left to clean in the place and I needed something to do! Besides, it's two in the afternoon. You've worked through lunch, we have to see each other sometime today. Let me in, will you?" she called back.

Snape put his quill in the inkwell and glanced at the small clock at the corner of the desk. It was past two, actually. 

Ron caught Harry's eye and frowned back down at Snape. 

"Ask me, he's hiding in here," Ron said, watching Snape run his hands over his face. "He's gotta face her every day. He might as well go talk to her and..."

Snape stood and opened the door quickly, making Freya jump back. She glared at him.

"I tried you over an hour ago but you didn't respond," she fumed. He shut the door behind him and reset the wards. She huffed and followed him into the kitchen. "How are we to get anywhere if you hardly talk to me?"

He began digging in the refrigerator, not looking at her.

"Oh, stop it Severus. I'll still fix you your cheese sandwich, just sit down."

Snape emerged from the refrigerator with a handful of ingredients.

"Aren't you tired of cheese sandwiches?" he asked, setting the items down on to the counter.

Her arms went to her hips in exasperation.

"I only make them because you want nothing else! Why do you insist on being so impossible?!"

"Have you eaten yet?" 

She sighed, warily staring at the meat, potatoes, and onions on the counter. He kept pulling more from the refrigerator.

"Yes," she answered. "I couldn't take it anymore, so I fixed myself something. What am I to do with all this? Are you wanting a stew?"

"Yes. But I'll make it. Sit down."

"No, I'll do it, Severus," Freya said, taking the carrots and rinsing them in the sink. "But it won't be ready for some time though, do you want tea?"

"Stop fawning over me; I'm quite capable of fixing a meal. Sit down and read one of the books you stole from my study."

Freya didn't sit immediately. She watched him clean the vegetables, clearly discontent, but eventually she pulled a book from the stack at the table. 

"Oh, look Ron!" Hermione nodded to the book's cover. "Grimm's Fairy Tales! These are Muggle fairy tales. It's the sort Harry and I grew up hearing!"

Ron peered over Freya's shoulder at the current page's illustration. "A frog, eh? I can't imagine it outdoes Babbity Rabbity, but the..."

Freya had started talking to Snape's back as he chopped away.

"It's only sensible you'd be able to cook, Severus; Potions Master and all. It's not that I thought you couldn't."

"Hmm," Snape grunted. "What I find surprising is how well you do at it. And the cleaning. Being that you come from one of the wealthy pureblood families, I would've thought such things were done by a house elf or two."

She turned the page.

"That's true. I learned after finishing at Hogwarts; a year of traveling after schooling is completed is, as you know, an old but still acceptable tradition," Freya explained.

"Ah, I see. And yet you stayed away longer than a year; several, actually," Snape turned to stare at her; she averted her eyes. He snorted and said,

"Ah, and there he is. Clearly, you met 'Mr. Gorgeous' while abroad. And lived with him, I expect. Learned how to keep house together. Well, that certainly broadens the field; at least I know he's not in Britain."

She closed the book over a finger as he continued,

"He will be found, Freya. Tell me who he is and the matter will be closed that much quicker."

"Stop it, will you? You'll get nothing more from me about him. He's no threat to you or your..."

"We cannot carry on like this forever, Freya. We must... what book are you reading?!"

She held it up so he could see.

"Interesting that you have so much Muggle literature, Severus."

He sighed dispassionately.

"My father was a Muggle, and I was raised in a Muggle neighborhood. It only makes sense my parents had a collection."

"But you even reference it, Severus," she told him, standing up. "The pumpkin was from 'Cinderella'. But it's the coach that turned into one, not..."

A Muggle photograph fell out of the book a few pages behind her finger . Snape and Freya both lunged for it, but she was closer. Snape eyed her warily as she studied the photograph.

She flipped it around and held it up to him, chuckling.

"Is this you? As a boy, dressed up from a fairy tale, with your little best friend?"

Snape's response was unheard by Harry, as he hurried to look at the photograph himself.

"It's my mum!" Harry exclaimed to those who could hear him. 

Lily Evans looked about eleven or twelve years of age. She was rather old to be playing dress up, but she was radiant in a long pink sundress with a paper crown on her head. Severus Snape was of a similar age, crouching like a frog on a rock with green paint covering most of his face. He looked ridiculous, but didn't appear to care in the least. He had only eyes for Lily, who in their play acting, was leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

"Childhood playing," Snape was saying. "It matters not, Freya. She was just a random neighborhood friend. Give me back the photo and we'll put this nonsensical book away; I hardly think the Dark Lord would appreciate you reading Muggle literature so fervently." 

Freya flipped her hand out of his reach and took a step backwards, setting the book aside. She read the back of the photograph.

"'To my beloved Frog Prince. Another year of transfiguration and we'll know how it really works! Your friend, Lily.'" Her eyes flitted up at him. "Random, you say. No, this was a Hogwarts student. And I'd say it was the 'best friend' you had unrequited love for..."

Her eyes widened and he straightened more, putting the vegetables down. She turned and walked to the hallway entrance.

"Lily... there was only one red haired witch by that name back then! Lily Evans...she married James Potter...their son is the Dark Lord's greatest enemy..."

"Freya, give me the photograph..."

"But if you truly loved her... your ONLY love... ". She glanced up at him. "This is your true allegiance! Not to the Dark Lord! But to her! To Harry Potter! To Dumbledore!"

He stepped closer, his hand reaching into his sleeve. She continued her retreat.

"You speak nonsense, Freya. I killed Dumbledore for the Dark Lord! For our cause! Now, I grow weary of repeating myself...give me the photograph."

The next moments went past quickly. Snape pulled his wand out, and Freya, upon seeing this, stumbled against the wall and fell, knocking Mr. Tobias Snape's urn to the floor.

Severus Snape stood over his father's spilled ashes, not moving, wand in hand. His gaze went back and forth between the sobbing wife on the floor and his father between them. He turned paler than usual and muttered under his breath.

And the scene froze. For too long. 

Harry glanced at the others. 

"Harry, what happened?" Ron spoke up. "Is the memory damaged or something?"

"Don't know," Harry told him as McGonagall leaned over Freya's unmoving form. The Headmistress then hurried to the drawing room. "I've never seen a memory do this before."

"No, look! Professor Snape is blinking and breathing. Just thinking perhaps? Maybe he's used Petrificus Totalus on her?" Hermione said.

Professor McGonagall returned. Snape agitatedly ran a hand through his hair, snatched the photograph from the floor, and began pacing on the spot. 

"It's not just Mrs. Snape that has stopped," McGonagall announced. She watched Snape with a look of bemusement and pride. "The clocks have as well."

True enough, the ticking sounds were all gone. Surprised quiet abounded.

"A Time Turner could work," Ron offered. "Except we just saw him; he didn't use one..."

"A Time Turner rewinds time, but it never paused it when I used it during Third year," Hermione told him.

"He said something," Harry added. He thought back to the Potions text book of Professor Snape's that Harry had used during his Sixth Year. He didn't know it was Snape's at the time, and had gained a deep respect for the creative genius of whomever was the 'Half-Blood Prince'.

"He was inventive, amazingly creative; even as a student," Harry said. "He made new spells while he was a teenager. Plenty were Dark, but he also created the Counters for them. It only makes sense he'd be capable of more innovations in his adult life."

"The mechanics of a Time Turner are magically imbued," McGonagall contemplated. "Theoretically, there's no reason such magic couldn't be induced by magical incantation; it just wouldn't be strong enough to go back in time. A pause, however, could've proven most useful under certain circumstances..."

"Such as in the life of a spy," Harry finished for her. He smiled to himself grimly, wondering how much of Professor Snape's inventions were lost forever with the death of the wizard. He had no idea what the incantation had been, and doubted they could ever figure it out just by watching the memory a few more times, so softly had it been murmured.

But then again, messing with time was a risky business; even pausing it was, surely. Perhaps it was just as well that this particular spell, having served its purpose for its creator, was not going to be available for misuse by others in the future.

Snape had stopped pacing and stared forlornly at Freya. He returned to the position he'd been in before the freezing of time, wand ready.

A moment later the clocks and Freya's crying started up again. And the next moment,

"Obliviate," Snape said.

"Merlin's beard, Severus..." McGonagall rasped, shaking her head.

"He can't let her remember about Harry's mum," Ron said. 

Freya lowered her arm and blinked warily through her tears.

"What... what's happened?" 

Snape reached his hand out and helped her up.

"I've had to Obliviate you," he told her calmly. "You came across one of the Dark Lord's plans. You don't bare the Dark Mark, and even if you did... the Dark Lord requires his secrets be kept by those he chooses to share them with."

She pulled her hand from him petulantly. She wouldn't look at him.

"And how could I have come across one of his plans? Was it hidden in one of those books in the kitchen?" she asked doubtfully.

He arched an eyebrow at her. 

"I'm taking the books back for several reasons," he told her. "Don't attempt to take them or any others from my study again. Whatever is in the drawing room you can choose from."

She glared up at him.

"It's a horrendous thing to do, to remove someone's memories from them..."

"Then perhaps your time would be better used practicing, rather than reading," he replied, turning toward the kitchen.

"Practicing?" she repeated.

"Yes, Freya! Practice your wand work!" Snape's voice rose. "Your Defense skills are pitiful to say the least; look at how quickly I gained the upper hand on you. What good are you in a fight if you sit on the floor and just cry about it!"

Her head jerked.

"A fine good thing to say, when I haven't even my wand!"

He walked back to her, spelling the urn and ashes back to their place.

"What do you mean? Where is your wand, Freya?" Snape asked her, his head turning toward the hidden room he'd given her to use.

"It's not in there, Severus," she said, more softly.

"Where. Where is your..."

"I rather assumed you had it, Severus."

"Why would I..."

Freya breathed out a sound of more sadness, and sat on the couch in the drawing room. Snape stood next to her.

"Father took it from me after realizing who I'd fallen in love with. He said when I'd taken an acceptable husband, it'd be returned. A fortnight after our marriage, when you had my parents over... you said it was to assist with protective spells but it seemed a reasonable time for him to have given it to you," she explained.

"I don't have your wand, Freya," he told her.

She sat in silence.

"Clearly, he doesn't count you as acceptable."

Snape snorted. 

"We knew that before the nuptials. You saw what his face looked like. You went on with it nonetheless."

More silence.

"Why?" He asked. "Why did you return... you were in another country, in love and ready to marry another man... you probably could've stayed clear of all of this. Why did you come back?"

She took a deep breath.

"Several reasons. After Luther's death..."

Snape bristled.

"Your father blames me for your brother's death, Freya. It makes even less sense that you married me!"

"Would you calm down?" Freya chided him. "It was a trial for new recruits, Luther told me himself. You, he and Magnus all wanted the Dark Mark. You were the only one who made it out alive. Father knew what was involved; he despises you for being more capable than his own son, that's all. He can't accept it. But you're not at fault for my brother's death, nor Magnus's. I overheard Luther and Magnus talking about it that day..."

She stared at him intently. "Luther thought highly of you, Severus. I heard him say of the three of you, you had the greatest chance. He said it was an honor, just to be chosen... for the opportunity to serve the Dark Lord, and if he or either of his friends made it in, he would've been glad for it.

"You've asked why I came back. After Luthers death, the pressures to carry on the Avery bloodline passed from my brother to myself. But then the unthinkable happened; the Dark Lord seemed gone forever. My parents allowed me a reprieve, let me take a year of travel. Then I gained an apprenticeship still abroad...and don't ask me where, I'm not saying! But my apprenticeship kept me gone longer, and then, yes, I met... him. And it was wonderful. I'd have spent the rest of my days away from Britain, save for one matter.

"My parents have written me several times over the last couple of years. News that the Dark Lord has returned and has certain requirements of his followers... it hits home. My heart told me, I'm all my parents have left of the bloodline. Of Luther. And I knew it was a slim chance that they'd be accepting of my beau, which is why I didn't bring him."

She turned her attention away from Snape, staring into space. 

"I came back because father's most recent letters were sounding frightened. For him, for mother, for me. I might have been able to continue with my own life but... they're my parents. My family."

Freya glanced back at him.

"'We are Slytherins, after all. And while we Slytherins don't care after everyone, we most certainly look after our own.' I remember you saying that repeatedly when you took over as Head of Slytherin House. My last year. Do you remember?"

"Your brother is the one who said it first, Freya. The time he had me over to your mansion, during my Fifth year. Shorty before your father threw me out and told me never to return."

Freya raised her eyebrows. 

"Why did he..." she began. He pursed his lips.

"Something about his home was not a begging place for vagabond half-bloods."

Snape's chin rolled in contemplation, then he said,

"But if you don't have a wand, that means you were completely..." he met her eyes, then straightened up. His face was unreadable again.

"Gather your cleaning supplies."

Her mouth hardened and she also stood.

"'Gather the cleaning supplies'?! What, now that you know I'm defenseless..."

"Gather...your cleaning supplies, and meet me upstairs," Snape repeated, and he went up ahead of her.

Harry and the others followed Snape. At the second door, he flicked an unlocking charm and turned the doorknob.

The bedroom looked and reeked of death, much like Bathilda Bagshot's house had. The decor was plain save for a few feminine touches. It was all covered in such a thick layer of dust Harry couldn't tell if anything had color or if it was all just... gray.

Professor Snape stood in the doorway with a strange look on his face.

"His mother's deathbed, perhaps," Professor McGonagall whispered. 

Snape grabbed a small picture frame from the bedside table and slipped it into his pocket.

"Alright. Your orders," Freya's voice growled from the doorway. Snape stepped beside her.

"Like the study. Surface care only... leave the rest alone..."

He paused to gain better control of his voice. Freya walked further into the room, glancing around. 

"...and don't take anything."

Having said this, Snape went back to the kitchen. He threw the rest of the ingredients into the pot and set it to simmering, and took the books from the table.

He placed the photograph back into the book of Fairy Tales, shelved the books into place, and removed the titles of his collection with a spell. Another spell placed a protection over the bookshelves.

Snape returned to his work. 

"That's not going to take her long," Harry said after ten minutes. "The room needed an overhaul, not just dusting."

"That's not the point, Harry," Hermione told him.

Freya returned to the study and stuck her head in.

"Surface care only, as requested," she said lightly.

He didn't reply. She appeared to be full of questions but unsure how to ask any of them. 

"Why would you do this?" she whispered. "Why provide me..."

"I have provided nothing, do you understand?" Snape cut her off. "I just wanted a start up there. I'll do the real sorting when I can get to it."

"Yes, of course." She remained, fidgeting nervously with her hands.

"Two failed attempts yesterday, Severus," her voice was still soft. "I wonder if we might try now."

He looked dubious but stood up. They clasped hands, and he asked if she would give herself to him. Her affirmative answer was met by the glow around their hands. 

"Erotic as that sounds, I'm too hungry," were his next words. He sat back down and started writing again. "You'll live to see another day, Freya. Congratulations."

"This doesn't mean I've forgiven the matter," she told him, her frustration mounting again.

"I don't recall apologizing."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, one month (not several) between updates! Sorry this is a short chapter.

Harry flopped onto a cushioned chair and said, 

“Ok, Hermione; what’d I miss? You cottoned on to something I didn't.”

Hermione bit into a stale sandwich, a gleam in her eye and a grin on her face.

“His mum’s wand, Harry,” she said between bites. “It was in plain sight by the far bedside table, covered in dust! And even though he told her not to take anything…”

“He must've meant for her to have it,” Ron finished. “It's not like any self preserving Slytherin isn't gonna snag a wand when they need one, and she'd already taken books he didn't want her to.”

Harry contemplated this. It was good that Professor Snape had found a way to arm his wife without it being blatantly obvious, but would the wand even work for her?

“Professors, do you remember much about his mum’s wand?” Harry asked Dumbledore's portrait and Professor McGonogall. 

“The core was dragon heartstring,” Professor McGonogall replied. “It had a medium length. But the most recognizable trait was that it was made from…elm.”

“Elm? Is it rare to have a wand made from it?”

Ron snorted. “Not so much rare, mate. It's an old line of thinking that elm wands’ll only work magic for pureblooded folks . Which is rubbish, I say. Charlie had a muggle born classmate with an elm wand.”

“Indeed,” said McGonogall. “While the students I've known to have elm wands are usually pure blooded, there’ve been plenty others with one or both parents that were muggles. It's primarily got to do with the wand being handed down within the family. A wizard or witch isn't always buried with his or her wand; handing it down happens often enough too.”

“Malfoy’s dad and grandad had the same elm wand. Went back several generations, I reckon,” Ron added.

“What did you see Harry, that you didn't notice the wand?” Hermione asked.

“Professor Snape grabbed a framed picture and hid it before she got to the room.”

“Oh…” Hermione looked at him sympathetically. “Was it another photo of your mum?”

“I didn't get a good look, but no. It was his mum, I expect. Definitely the black hair and big nose, but her hair was up in a bun.”

“Harry…” Dumbledore's portrait spoke up. “Not to rush things, but how was Professor and Mrs. Snape's interaction this time? Did they seem to have any hint of romantic interest?”

Harry shook his head.

“I'm afraid not. Mostly they still bickered, and she is sort of trying, but he keeps her locked out from his study and just comes out for meals.”

The portrait nodded somberly. “It's still just the first few weeks. There is still hope…how many memories remain?”

Professor McGonogall and Harry traded looks. “Albus…” the elderly witch said, “I know it would be lovely to discover he found just a little happiness, but I don't see that we have any right to carry on farther. When Mrs. Snape gets here, I'll provide her what comfort I can, and see where the conversation goes. How many years have I been a Professor, let alone a Head of House and advisor? I'll make sure she feels she can confide in me, and I'll not be judgemental of however she's feeling. As you say, she may be glad to be free of the marriage.”

“And who could blame her?” Hermione chimed in. “He's downright nasty to her at times. She left her fiancé for this charade of a union. She may want to pack up and leave, like you've said before, Professor.”

Dumbledore's portrait nodded again. “Precisely, Miss Granger.” He looked imploringly back at Harry. “There is a great deal at stake.”

Harry frowned at how unsettled Dumbledore was getting.

“No offense to the late Professor Snape, but like it's been said before, he's dead now, right?” Ron said. “What difference does it make now if they loved each other?”

“Because, Mr. Weasley, love would make all the difference…”

“But why?”

“Because mate,” Harry interrupted, his shoulders slouched in burden, “When Dumbledore's portrait talked about ‘pity the living,’ this time he meant the soon to be living, not just Mrs. Snape.”

“You see, she’s pregnant,” Harry added. He made eye contact with the portrait to see if he was right. “Or at least,” he amended, “he thinks she might be. Isn't that right, Professor?”

The portrait took a moment to wipe his spectacles on a kerchief, and after he had slowly put them back on, he addressed the group again.

“…I do not know for certain that she is with child, Harry. But it is a plausibility that must be considered.”

Ron finally found his voice. “But they found a way around the Unbreakable Vow, right? So they didn't have to sha… do…You-Know-What, right?”

“They were married almost a whole year, Ron,” Harry responded quietly. He rested an elbow on each knee and hunched over in the chair, staring into his own hands. “And Voldemort himself put them together. He'd have had expectations. Professor Snape told her in that last memory, he was starting to say they couldn't carry on the way they had been. He was telling her it was a matter of time.”

“Well, that certainly is a delicate matter, but I'll broach it gently when I've gained her confidence…” McGonogall began.

Harry was up and pacing. “There’s more. If she's coming out of a loveless marriage, pregnant with a baby she doesn't want, she could easily feel she has no where to turn, and disappear and do just about anything to be rid if her burden.” 

Professor McGonogall arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, Harry, I was able to follow the implications of the conversation, actually. Mrs. Snape may want to reunite with her original fiancé, and whether he'd be willing to help raise another wizard’s baby is something for them to work out. If raising said child is not something she feels able to do, then believe you me I will do all I can to help find a willing family. But even if that proves an impossibility, growing up in an orphanage happens to plenty of other children. And, such a child will likely not be a squib; he or she, when turned eleven, would be welcome at Hogwarts for schooling. I'll make certain the financial needs are covered, if need be.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“Part of what made Tom Marvolo Riddle become Voldemort, turn evil, was that his mum, Merope, used a Love Potion on his Dad to get him to marry her. And she was still using the potion when she conceived. And when Tom Riddle Sr left her, she died of a broken heart and Tom Riddle the younger grew up not knowing love from anyone at the orphanage or anywhere else. By the time he started at Hogwarts, magic was a means to hurt others. It all started with no love at conception, and got worse from there.

“That's why this is so important,” he continued. “We have to make sure that, at the end of these two wars, we're not so busy celebrating and picking up our lives that we miss history repeating itself…”

He looked pointedly at Ron and Hermione.

“…it’s a lot of ‘what-ifs’, I know, but….” Harry paused. “We could have another Merope Gaunt on our hands.”

The other three seemed rather dubious.

“But Professor Snape was a Potions Master, Harry,” Hermione told him. “He would've understood the potential dangers of using a Love Potion. I just can't see him using one on her. I mean, yes he may have felt they'd have to consummate, but a Love Potion would've been an easy way out; a shortcut. He never was one for that. And why should she want to use one on him? Provided she could even obtain one, that is.”

“If I may…” Dumbledore's voice interrupted, and he waited for a nod from McGonogall. “In the history of time, evil, hatred, corruption… they all existed long before Love Potions were invented. There are many other complexities that can lead to a person choosing hate over love, power over kindness, destruction over creation, than the mere existence or lack of one potion. Grindelwald’s story, for example, is quite different from Voldemort’s. But I do see multiple similarities between Merope Gaunt’s and Freya Snape’s situations.

“For one, each witch entered marriages they or their spouses wouldn't have normally wanted. Their husbands have each left them, one way or another. As for there babies, there is also a family lineage of Dark Arts in both cases. I can not speak truthfully of Severus Snape without saying he was extremely talented in and fascinated by Dark Magic. He turned it around in time, used his interests to improve defenses and healing spells against Dark Magic, but…. clearly the potential is there. 

“And if we add to all this an additional component, if Professor Snape and his wife have created a baby without both being in love with one another… then yes, like Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Sr, a magical child will have been conceived without love, one who can not feel nor understand love, with an innate proclivity for Dark Magic…we may have the next evil wizard or witch in gestation, as we speak.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we are. Can you tell I was inspired when the news first came out there was going to be a play called 'Harry Potter and the Cursed Child'?! I admit I was hoping for a lot more Snape time, but he had a few good scenes...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry; when does he not have the weight of the world on his shoulders?

“You don't really think the next Voldemort or Grindelwald is less than a year from being born, do you mate?” Ron asked. “I mean, it's just a baby, provided there even IS a baby. Don't you think we're overreacting just a bit?”

Harry watched as Professor Snape, standing before a mirror in an upstairs bedroom, transfigured his hair into a passably Muggle haircut. Snape had already donned plain trousers and a long-sleeved t-shirt; other than the telltale nose and pale skin, he was barely recognizable.

Harry tried to explain as ‘memory’ Professor Snape set about digging in the closet.

“I know there were times I had my doubts about Dumbledore this year, mate. Especially his plans for me. But that was, I think, another part of the growing up I needed to be ready to take on Voldemort. I had to question everything, gain that ‘inner voice’, or whatever. Now that I see how things turned out, I understand why he did things the way he did, mostly. I was right to trust Dumbledore when he told me what needed to be done. I trust him now too; we'll get more information as we need it.

“Do I really think Mrs. Snape is pregnant? Part of me hopes so. It'd mean a lot to me, knowing that some part of Professor Snape lives on; because no matter how I felt about him personally, there's no doubt he was very brave.

“Which is precisely what he should be remembered for; what he sacrificed, and why. But if there's a baby and he or she goes evil? What would it have done to Snape,to find out he'd had a kid that grew up to become exactly what he'd turned against? I mean, I know it's a little far fetched right now, but you need to understand from Dumbledore’s perspective. Remember he had me watch the memory of when he first met eleven year old Tom Riddle? The kid was eerie, talked about hurting people if he wanted to, and so on. And I asked him, asked if he'd known then he'd just met the most evil wizard of all time… and Dumbledore was shaken a bit by it. He said no, he hadn't, (how could he have), but if he had…”

And Harry stopped and thought more about that conversation. What would have been the rest of Dumbledore’s sentence, if he'd finished the thought? What would or could Dumbledore have done about it? Stopped Riddle from attending Hogwarts? That wouldn't have done any good, Riddle was already very good at controlling his magic without even knowing it was magic. Put the kid in Azkaban? A trial based on what someone MIGHT do in the future was ludicrous. And yet Dumbledore would've been right, look at what Voldemort DID become.

So what other option was left? Surely Dumbledore wasn't insinuating he'd have considered… killing Tom Riddle at that early age? It might have saved countless lives in the future, but it was nonetheless unconscionable. 

And yet, for a time in Dumbledore's young adulthood, he'd planned on doing unthinkable things to people all for ‘the greater good’. Dumbledore deplored himself for having ever thought that way, but was that part of his personality resurfacing? Was he drawing such similarities between Snape's potential baby and Tom Riddle to help Harry be ready to do something equally unfathomable?

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice found him. “You look awful all of a sudden. What's on your mind?”

He shook his thoughts away. There was no need to worry the others as yet. Surely it wouldn't be coming to anything like that; and Dumbledore knew he'd never agree to such a thing. But deep within his belly, he felt he couldn't stand to ever eat again.

Snape pulled a pair of old Muggle shoes out and tried them on. They were too big and looked ratty from years of disuse. It was surreal, watching him try to look like a Muggle, when in the years Harry had known him, he had always presented himself as… as un-Mugglish as humanly possible.

“…Potter? Potter! …Harry?”

Harry startled at the sound of Professor McGonogall using his given name. He blinked and glanced at her.

“…erm, sorry Professor. What was that?”

She sighed and rubbed her eyes.

“Harry, I did agree to continue with checking through these memories. I still do. Albus Dumbledore was probably the most brilliant mind of our world in a lifetime. He was our leader, our master strategist when we needed him most during two wars. He never led us wrong unless it was to create a necessary deception.

“Having said that, we need to take into account that we are NO LONGER working with Albus Dumbledore, the living man. You must understand, while Hogwarts uses ‘the best in the business’ to charm the portraits so they can mimic the personalities of those they depict… Harry, the portrait does NOT replace the wizard.”

Why did she feel the need to say that? 

“Professor, are you saying Dumbledore's portrait may be confused or something?” Ron asked.

McGonogall stared back at Snape as he transfigured the shoes to fit his feet. It took him a couple tries to get them how he wanted. The elder Professor, herself the longtime Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts, smiled to herself as if caught up in some old memory of her own. 

“I'm saying,” she continued, “the portrait and the person depicted are not one and the same, it's no replacement. Haven't you ever noticed how frequently the portraits in the Headmaster’s office pretend to sleep, at the most inopportune times? The personality of Mrs. Black’s portrait at 12 Grimmauld Place is worse as a painting than in real life, which was bad enough. There are so many factors to making a charmed portrait, and sometimes that portrait can go awry.”

“Frankly, it's impressive Dumbledore was ABLE to continue to ‘call the shots’ after his death, as a portrait,” Hermione gently added. “I've read about it, and a lot of the person’s mental capacities aren't there in the portrait. The charming process just can't capture that essence, something gets lost in… in the translation, I suppose?”

Harry tried to hold down his feelings of anger. He was being talked down to, like he was fifteen all over again. He wasn't agreeing to some wild goose chase mission as some sort of delayed grieving for Dumbledore! Was he?

Of course, after Sirius died, it had been Dumbledore that had helped Harry the most. He'd put up with Harry yelling at him, breaking the wizard’s possessions, even tried taking blame for Sirius’s death himself. Harry hadn't had a similar grieving process after Dumbledore was gone, not really. He'd had to break up with Ginny and worry about going on the run and hunting Horcruxes. There'd still been a war to fight.

Harry had been crestfallen when Sirius didn't return as a ghost. He'd have given anything to talk to his Godfather again. Was that why he was so sure Dumbledore's portrait couldn't be wrong? Was the portrait being barmy and Harry refusing to see it because he missed the real person so much?

“I get it…” Harry said, trying very hard to keep the edge out of his voice. “I hear you, I…” he made eye contact with Ron. “I do. And I get what you're worried about; you think I'm going through delayed grief or something. That's fair enough, I can see it too.

“But Hermione, like you said, he ran things as a portrait. Doesn't that say something about the strength of his mental capacity carrying over in the charming process? How could a portrait, if he was half barmy, run the winning side of a war?”

She blinked back at him.

“Harry, he paced ALL the time in his office while alive. Maybe he wasn't just strategizing, but committing to his memory all the twists that could be coming in the war? Like, if he had gone over it enough times his portrait couldn't get it wrong?” she suggested.

“That could make sense, Harry,” Ron added quietly. “Because this Snape-getting-married thing wasn't something Dumbledore could've foreseen. So yeah, getting the sword to you, getting the other two items to you, he had plans for that and Snape filled in where it was needed, but right now this evil baby stuff could just be the portrait being a little…boggled, you know?”

Harry glared at the floor, tamping down the urge to be upset. He tried to separate how much he missed Dumbledore from the facts at hand. When had he slept last? More than two days now? Was he even able to think coherently? He trusted his friends; Hermione and Ron had seen it all through with him. And McGonogall? She was the epitome of quick wit and was Headmistress now. Harry respected her knowledge and insightfulness completely.

The fact was, it wasn't Dumbledore's portrait’s place to call the shots anymore, it was hers. And truth be told, it surely hurt her to have been left out of the loop so much by Dumbledore and Snape, and Harry too. It was time to put his faith in the living; and McGonogall was fierce but empathetic, wise and determined. She was up to the challenge.

Harry decided that it was reasonable to let Dumbledore's portrait talk and they could hear it out, but that needed to be separated from the vision he'd had of talking to the real Dumbledore. Some day, he would get the chance to see the real Dumbledore again; albeit a very long time from now. In the meantime, he'd carry Dumbledore in his heart like he did his parents and Sirius. Harry had chosen to go on living; and having made that choice gave Harry a sort of peace about the people he’d lost.

He inhaled deeply, very pleased to be able to do so when hours ago he'd thought he'd not be doing it ever again, and smiled at the simple joy of it, and looked back up.

They were all staring at him.

He addressed McGonogall. 

“You’re right, Professor. If you think we should continue, then let's do so. If you think we should stop, then that's your call,” Harry nodded. “The portrait may need a gentle reminder he's not in charge any more, and that I'm in no position to make important decisions either. If memory serves, nothing in that prophecy mentioned me worrying about a baby; I was the baby, back then. My ‘foretold’ job is done; now we're just here to help if you need it, if you want it, and that's all there is to it. Tell us to bugger off, if you like.”

Professor McGonogall appraised him silently, eyebrows arched higher than he'd seen them go before.

“My call, you say.”

“Erm, yes Professor; your call. I'm sorry to have questioned you.”

Her eyebrows went higher.

“What happened to ‘brash adolescent Harry’, who always rushed in knowing far more than all the adults around him?”

Harry stopped grinning. “Yeah, I deserved that. I was guilty of making things worse on more than one occasion.” It hurt to admit it.

“I only meant you've grown up a great deal, Harry. You're a wonderful mix of both your parents, and they'd be quite proud of you.”

His parents WERE proud of him, they'd told him so a few hours ago. But there was no way to try to explain that.

McGonogall nodded. 

“Onward for now. Dumbledore's portrait probably has good reasons for wanting these memories checked into; but either he's gotten a 'bit boggled', to use your colorful vernacular, or he's up to something else and just not used to being... forthcoming with his information. I'll have to straighten him out on that last matter later.” She pursed her lips and Hermione and Ron smiled knowingly together at Harry. McGonogall could be ferocious when she needed to be.

“Further, in the unlikely event his specific concerns have merit, then yes, we'd need to know about it. Severus Snape deserves better than to have sired the next Dark witch or wizard. Either way,” said the Headmistress, “we'd best get on with the rest of these memories. I have a feeling there truly is something important going on.”

Their attentions all turned back to Professor Snape, who was still standing in front the mirror.

“Did he pause time again?” Ron asked into the silence.

“No, he didn't. I froze the memory while Mr. Potter carried on his inner discourse.” McGonogall flicked her wand, and Snape hid his own wand up his sleeve.

“You can do that?” Ron asked in surprise.

The bedroom door burst open. 

“There you are! What are you doing?!” Freya declared.

Snape scowled and charged past her, thundering down the stairs.

“What is this? Where are you going?”

“Why bother asking questions? You know full well I'll not answer,” he called over his shoulder.

She stopped short against the railing. Her tone changed.

“…the Dark Lord has a mission for you? At this time of night, in such mugglish attire?”

Snape paused by his father's urn.

“Do you suppose…” Ron wondered aloud, “what if she's there not just to be a wife, but to keep an eye on him? Like Voldemort’s got her spying on him, to see what he does?”

“A possibility, Mr. Weasley. And she may not even be aware of it.”

“It's not a mission. I'm off to visit my mother.”

“Your mother?! But you made it sound like…”

“I separated them, as I said. The cemetery is not far from here.”

Freya considered this.

“Why today? Is it her birthday or something?”

“No, I just visit her once every summer. I usually go in June, but… I’ve been unable to,” he replied. She came down the stairs and studied his face; he continued to look at his father's urn.

“Will this upset the Dark Lord?” she asked more gently. “Or is it finally safe enough to venture out?”

“The Dark Lord finds it acceptable for me to visit her once a year. He feels it serves as a sharp reminder to me of what can happen. It prepares me for the upcoming year.”

“‘…a reminder of what can happen?’ How do you mean, is he threatening you? How did your mother die?”

He glowered at her.

“The Dark Lord knows why I am his faithful servant; unlike some other followers, I obey him without need for threatening.”

She studied him a moment longer, then straightened her shoulders.

“I think it's good you visit her, and I insist you take me with you. I've had all I can stand of being cooped up.”

He grunted his annoyance but, to Harry's surprise, didn't argue.

“You'll need to look more like a muggle, then.”

She scurried off to her tiny bedroom. Minutes later, her robes were replaced by a simple blouse and skirt. Her straight red hair had been loosened from its taut updo, and seemed a few shades closer to brown.

“Will this do?”

Hermione nodded, even though the couple couldn't see or hear her. “That's quite nicely put together, actually. She pulls off ‘muggle’ well.”

Snape seemed to be of a similar mind, because he thrust his elbow out to Freya without discussion; a half-twist later, they were gone.


End file.
